Splendid Darkness
by Paul Rich
Summary: A down on his luck pro duelist is offered a second chance to be a champion and finds himself caught up in a chain of events beyond anything he could imagine.


This is a Yugioh fanfiction idea I had rolling around in my head for a bit, and finally decided to commit it to...um...paper I guess. I hope you enjoy reading it, and I strongly encourage all reviews and constructive criticisms.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or Konami. If I did, I'd be enjoying my wealth instead.

**Splendid Darkness**

**Chapter 1**

It was a cold November night, two weeks before Thanksgiving. The bitter cold seemed to surround and seep into every crack and pore it could find itself into, and a layer of frost had already formed on several windows. A hopeless setting for a hopeless part of town. The streets were cracked and worn, fixed about every ten years or so. The buildings, most abondoned and dilapidated, looked mournfully on the empty street, silent guardians standing a depressing vigil. A man slowly walked down the street, a winter jacket slightly too small for him draped around his frame. Such is the condition of Deepmoss Lane, a lonely, forgotten skid row where the criminals thrive and the poor go to die. The only light one can see comes from a pub, the Deepmoss Inn. It used to be it was one of the most successful independantly owned businesses in the area, but now the bar itself is beginning to fall into disrepair. The only reason it is still open is for one reason: the Underground League.

No one could deny the popularity of the card game Duel Monsters. Leagues and professional tours are wired through the Internet, and every game boasted a more than respectable veiwership. Indeed, Duel Monsters took the world by storm, and the storm still hadn't blown over. Companies supplying simple equipment made profits, and small business owners that stocked singles consistently were almost always able to make a decent profit. Not even on Mossdeep Lane and its less than respected denizens was the popularity of Duel Monsters lost. The Mossdeep Inn itself was one of the battlefields for the infamous Underground League, a group of failed pro duelists and to attempt a new rise to fame and their sadistic, scheming tournament Organizers. Very few who enter the Underground League made it out before the end of their life, and even fewer actually made something of themselves afterward. When the main event is run by criminal rings and mafia families, though, what else could one expect? Duels are fixed, duelists vanish, and the mysterious Organizers themselves keep all the profit.

In the basement of the Mossdeep Inn, a well kept secret known only to those chosen few with the owner's approval, Gear contributed to the smokey air of the room. The room itself was rather small. There was a bar of course, well worn from both use and abuse as well as battered tables and chairs set around a small fenced in area. The chainlink reached to the ceiling (not a big accomplishment) and in it are two gates on opposite sides. The inside of the Battleground, as it is called by guests, is an unimpressive metal. Unimpressive, that is, except for the fact this one metal floor is obviously better taken care of than the whold bar itself. The fence pulses with electricity and the surfaces are positively gleaming. If it wasn't for the building it found itself in, the Battleground could almost pass for a legitimate operation.

As for Gear, he sat in a corner at the bar puffing on a cigarette. An old couderoy jacket is draped over his huge frame and unbuttoned, revealing a black t-shirt. His jeans are well worn, as are his snow boots. His wardrobe is two years old at least. His thick red hair is cut short and left rather messy, and his piercing brown eyes and thin mouth add to his intimidating appearance. Combined with his broad shoulders, bull neck, and muscular build, Gear is a throughly frightening individual. He sighed, and leaned back against the bar a bit more after taking a puff of his cigarette. Flicking the ashes into the ash tray, he checked his watch. Ten til midnight. The show would start soon. As he dragged the cigarette down to the butt, he looked around the dingy cellar to take stock of the audience. The usual. Grimy, dirty, drunk, high, or a combination of any of these. "You need to find better venues, Mathers." Gear said to the man next to him, shaking his head rather desparingly.

Waylon Mathers, a rather small but thick man in a cheap suit and cheaper glasses looked at Gear nervously. He ran a hand through his curly brown hair and checked his watch. "I couldn't, you know. Not since that incident."  
>"Cripes," Gear breathed out the last of the smoke in his lungs and crushed out the butt in the ashtray,"it happened once. Yes, okay, I beat the daylights out of someone during an event covered statewide. I went to court, I payed the settlement, what more do they want?"<br>"You beat the daylights out of your States opponent in the middle of the tournament." Mathers corrected. He quailed at the murderous look Gear gave him but pressed on. "The judge said you were banned from competitive dueling events for ten years. The Underground League is your only choice."  
>"Tch." Gear shifted in his seat. The pleather cover didn't hide the stool's uncomfortableness. He checked his watch again and stood up. "Major league Undergrounders don't have to deal with this shit."<br>"Anymore." Mathers added. "Everyone starts out in the minors."  
>"Yeah yeah." Gear checked his watch again and stood up. "I'm starting to wonder what I'm paying you for anyway. Isn't it your job as my agent to get me up there?" He strode to the Battleground, not bothering to hear Mathers' answer.<p>

"But the owner wanted it to be interesting!" Mathers had followed Gear back up to street level, whining about how Gear ended the match too quickly.  
>"Five turns is a perfectly reasonable amount of time for a decent game." Gear replied, lighting a new cigarette. "Besides, more than half the patrons were nowhere near sober enough to truly appreciate a halfway decent duel."<br>"That's not the point!" Mathers exclaimed. "You keep talking about the major leagues, but all you really do is sulk, refuse to follow instructions, and belittle everyone around you!"  
>"I shouldn't have to kiss-"<br>"But you do! What's more, the people running the show are violent and unpredictable at the best of times! If you continue with your stubborness, you'll end up dead in a ditch somwhere!"  
>"My English teacher said the same thing to me in high school. Trust me when I say I am no more inclined to care now as I was then." Gear pushed a stream of smoke through his nostrils. "If you're so worried, why don't you just quit?"<br>"I worry about you!"  
>"You worry about everything. That's your job."<br>"But this is more personal! Look, can you at least pretend to care about moving up?"  
>"No, because honestly the Underground League is a joke. Not to mention those shock bands they make us wear will probably kill us eventually. But the main reason why I don't care is there's no recognition. No one cares if you're a good Underground duelist. Sure, the money's good, probably even better than the pro tour but if the only people who know are criminals and snobs then why should I strive to follow the rules and be the best?"<br>"Because you can't get into the pro tour. You've been banned." Mathers sighed. They'd been over this before.  
>"Then in the meantime I'll play in shitholes for drunks and stoners who don't know the difference between a Dark Magician and a Buster Blader." With that, Gear meant the conversation was over. He began walking away to the parking lot. Suddenly, Mathers cried out.<br>"Gear, run!"  
>"What?" Gear turned to see a man wearing a long coat heading his way. The metallic glint from the dim light of a barely functioning streetlamp was all he needed to see to break out into a sudden sprint. Turning the corner, he heard a gunshot, causing Gear to curse loudly. Annoying or not, Mathers was one of the few people Gear trusted; if only because he believed he didn't have anywhere near enough backbone to try anything. Still, Gear knew he had best focus on his own survival as he cut a winding course through several back alleys. "If I get out of this, I swear I'm done with these psychos. Washing my hands of them for good." Gear muttered to himself as he ran. He couldn't remember why he let Mathers talk him into joining the Underground League in the first place, although that might just be because of the adrenaline.<p>

Gear was in pretty good shape, especially compared to most duelists, but even he had his limits. After about five minutes of a sheer sprint, his breathing began getting ragged and his legs felt like they were filled with lead. His head was pounding severely and he was beginning to feel the beginnings of naseua. Yet he dared not stop, despite the distance he must have put between himself and the hitman. He had no clue if the guy with the gun had friends, or even if he was driving after him. Suddenly, he heard something that caused his heart to sink. "C'mon, c'mon!" He tried to psych himself up, but it was useless. Even if the roar of the engine wasn't so obvious, no human being could hope to outrun any vehicle. Gear stopped and turned. He was almost blinded by the headlights and it was impossible to see anything beyond it. However, he was going to go down fighting, not being hunted down like a dog. Amazingly, however, the car swirved into a beautiful drift. Even more impressive than the control over the drift was the fact the car was a limosuine. Gear was impressed despite the fight or flight reaction he was currently experiencing. This driver clearly knew what he was doing. The door opened and revealed a brown-haired man in a black suit with a red shirt inside. "I'd get in if I were you. Your friend with the gun is still looking for you, you know." He said conversationally as he patted the empty seat next to him.


End file.
